Sanitarium: Crisis Stabilization Unit
by Shadownia 'Fried Rice' Clow
Summary: Asylum AU. Welcome to the Vanguard Psychiatric Hospital (VPH). In the Crisis Stabilization Unit; the head doctor should be a patient, the nurse is too sexy for his own good, and our favorite patient is a cutely oblivious suicidal blockhead. Heavy Warnings


A/N: Vent Hanabishi mobbed my shoulder, I have a dance recital on Bunny Baby's b-day, NighttimeFirefly thought shit funny so she decided to call Bunny Baby "execution grounds", and then I decided to call Kai by his given name (Toshiki) when I speak Japanese. Shit hit the fan hard and I went hiatus on uploading this. But you know me; I can't abandon y'all, especially since I got a new card game and a new story to run with it. Being the sexy bitch I am, I drilled to ya at three in the fucking morning while constantly hearing and seeing Bunny Baby speak French, cook, and drink Pineapple juice. Respect it. *rocker hands*

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_**Sanitarium: Crisis Stabilization Unit:**_

_Asylum AU. Welcome to the Vanguard Psychiatric Hospital (VPH). In the Crisis Stabilization Unit; the head doctor should be a patient, the nurse is too sexy for his own good, and our favorite patient is a cutely oblivious suicidal blockhead. ||Heavy Warnings||_

_+ ExtremeSuicidal!Aichi  
+ SadisticDoctor!BunnyBaby  
+ ProtectiveNurse!Toshiki  
+ Toshiki x Aichi  
+ Bunny Baby x Aichi  
+ Bunny Baby x Toshiki  
+ Insane Vanguards  
+ Bondage  
+ Citrus of all kinds that'll make you pucker up._

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It _burns. _

Well, of course it did. When you cut yourself up like this with a kitchen knife then dip yourself in a bathtub filled to the dripping edge with rubbing alcohol, it's going to sting so bad that the moments you decided to cut up your own body seem like a gentle and paradise-like reprieve from this kind of pain. Even as the alcohol seeps and corrodes your skin because you've sat there for the last only-gods-know-how-long, it's the only thing you can even _feel_.

Even your distraught – but still functioning – mind cannot comprehend anything other than the pain. After all, your emotions wilted inside of you long before they began to flower, like soft blue Hydrangea blooms dried up in the blistering Saharan Desert. Your oceanic cerulean eyes stung a puffy red from either the pain of your self-inflictions licked at by the voracious liquid or the fact you've been rubbing the endless tears away too closely to your eyes with your 97% alcohol soaked fingertips. When you feel the transparent liquid no longer covering some of your wounds, you drag your lethargic and scar-riddled body over the edge of the tub to grab another bottle of the alcohol with shaking fingers washed in red.

The evaporation of the thin layer of the sterilizer on your skin burns your wounds even more, but your determination was never weak. You toss down the five newly drained isopropyl bottles into some corner of the bathroom and continue to try and bleed yourself out in the stinging pond of dangerous liquid. The effect of the red snaking blood corrupting the clear liquid was instantaneous as it washes down your skin, spinel serpents weaved around delicate pale flesh before settling into the liquid field of roses.

Then you hear the door slam and your little sister's declaration of "Aichi! I'm home!"

Usually, you'd hide your knives, your blood, and your depression; but you cannot do so now. It's too late, you're in a critical state and the amount of blood you've lost to your hemorrhaging infects with the strength of a plague even the seashore blue tiles, turning it into another conquered land by the red swamps. Your body is in a state of paralysis, your mind is fading in and out between the webs of your conscious, but you don't struggle to stay on the reality side.

No, you hear your sister scream as she clutches her hand to her face in a desperate attempt to try and prevent herself from breathing in the overbearing stink. You're bare, obscured by the horrifying rubicund flood and soon your torso slid in. Your sister has left you to grab her cellphone, calling the ambulance. Your body is tingling; pins and needles prod and tip into every open crevice of your body, dragging out like a poisonous impurity contaminating your nerves and attacking the receptacles in your brain. But by the time she has bought the paramedics to the bathroom in which you lay, you've already lost yourself to a perfect oblivion.

You, Aichi Sendou, have just tried to commit suicide.


End file.
